The scent of lamb-and-apricot stew advertises Sarkisian Senior's cooking to the entire block.
Harris inhales sweet-and-sour air, and a smile spreads over his lips. 'A happy man must know how to cook,' dad often repeats, 'and how to pick a woman who enjoys small pleasures'. A good woman, a good meal with good wine is his simple recipe for happiness. Tonight, the old rogue scores two out of these three.
Old door creaks when Harris lets himself in. "Dad, I'm home!"
Sarkisian Senior dials down the volume on the TV and wheels his chair around the kitchen counter. "So I see."
"I knew I shouldn't have munched at the station, but the paperwork was a murder." He's genuinely sorry now. There's food, and then there's this stew's aroma hanging in the house...
Dad's eyes crinkle: he knows, oh he knows! "Pah, it'll taste better tomorrow."
A stitch releases in Harris's back. Today is a good day then. "How's the new butcher's block working out for you, Dad?"
Adding a pull-out butcher-block to one of the cabinets was the latest project of his. The house is over a hundred years old, with plenty of character and salvageable wood, plus the garden with a maple tree dad planted on the day Harris was born... but wheelchair accessible it is not.
"Block's good, but the slow-cooker... not so much." Dad winks—it truly is a good day for him.
"The slow-cooker? What slow... Oh. That lady from down the street brought it over, right?" Curly hair in a messy ponytail, voice of a chain-smoker... He squints to see her clearer in his mind's eye. "She also wants the lily bulbs if I dig up the bed on the side for the new ramp."
"Her name is Lonita," dad supplies.
"That's right, Lonita."
"Please, don't tell her the slow cooker isn't good, okay?" Dad winks, inviting him into a little neighborly conspiracy.
"No worries." Honestly, there's no need to even ask. Last time Harris talked to this Lonita woman was... April-ish? "Well, at least you gave a shot to the slow cooker."
Alas, a gas stove his dad can operate comfortably is out of his price range, while an electrical one doesn't go with Sarkisian Senior's heritage copperware.
"Never again. The flavor is all wrong." Dad wheels over to the coffee table by the window, with a chessboard. Figures removed from it during their ongoing duel line up next to a wine glass. Dad takes a sip from it and throws Harris a meaningful glance. The queens and knights are awaiting.
Harris lowers himself into an armchair opposite Sarkisian Senior to assess the situation. Hmm. One move while he was out fighting fires—and dad's rooks and a knight have him cornered. He can probably draw out the inevitable for five moves or so, then he's screwed here too. Harris reaches for his bishop.
"I saw you on the news today," dad says.
Oh, a distraction tactic? Maybe his chances are better than he thinks. Harris' fingers hover over the wooden figurine, without touching it. He leans back and sighs. As much as he wants to buy time to rethink the situation on the board, the last thing he needs is to talk about the hotel fire, the girl and her angels. "So... how's the wine, dad?"
It's white wine... Hence, dad wasn't going to eat with him anyway or he would have opened a bottle of red to go with lamb.
"One step above vinegar." Sarkisian Senior accepts the change in topic with barely a grumble. "I should have gone with beer. It's what we're famous for after all."
YOU ARE READING
Ablaze
Mystery / Thriller||Love Triangle between a Firefighter, an Arsonist and an Heiress ♡|| Deeply wounded by his mother's betrayal, Harris, a Milwaukee firefighter, doesn't accept human failings, including his own. That's until he saves a redhead from a burning hotel...
